


The Consequences of Being Compromised

by shapedthecentury



Category: Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 17:41:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11131671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shapedthecentury/pseuds/shapedthecentury
Summary: Even easy missions sometimes don't go /exactly/ as planned.





	The Consequences of Being Compromised

It was supposed to be an easy job. Just give the press and all the other stuffed shirts and uppity yahoos their mark has the occasion to work with a show. He led her through the groupings of people, stopping when someone called, mostly trying to stick to the edges and if someone wants to speak to them, then they can come to them. Everything seems to be going well until something caught her eye from across the room and set her off. What had started out as giggling, just quiet, giggling with her face turned to his shoulder in an attempt to mask the sound soon became nearly impossible for her to contain. 

Standing by his side, dressed like a lady for this swanky function, and-- she can't even remember now what was about what she saw that set her off. But slowly the soft giggling progresses into laughter. The laughter has Clint tugging her arm and forcing her to pay attention to where they’re going. She looks over to see that by this point, he’s been infected by her too, struggling not to join in with her. She tries, and fails to compose herself, but at least manages to get herself together enough to lead him out of the crowded banquet hall and into a side hallway. As soon as they’re alone, she breaks back into a true fit and he joins in with her. Both of them laughing until they nearly can’t breathe. Working them up into deep wheezing laughter that began to take on a rapidly more uncontrollable manic quality the longer it went on. 

With tears rolling down their cheeks, they laugh for several minutes, until their sides and faces hurt. It was like shattering, only not necessarily breaking, more like a spiral fracture in a pane of glass, both compromising and beautiful at the same time. Liberating in a lot of ways, and probably something the both of them needed to do more than they even realize.

They taper off, the two of them breathless, damp cheeked and red-eyed. The occasional sideways glance and he threatens to spur her, and by association him into another bout of giggles. She doesn't know how, but they finally manage to regain some form of control over themselves. She finds all at once that they’ve shifted closer to each other, her hand on his shoulder to steady herself, his on her waist for support. Not unusual for them to be in each other’s personal space, in fact, lately they seem to find themselves occupying each other’s personal space more often than not. Drifting toward each other like magnets, the attraction tugging at them constant and binding.

Her eyes sweep over his features, drinking in the sight of him there on the last lingering breaths of laughter, and something in them sparks, a sudden flash of a fire behind them, and a tell-tale catch of her breath just seconds before his lips crush against hers. Her eyes go wide for a moment, closing when his tongue sweeps along her lips and her arms wrap around his neck. She melts into him and the kiss with a sense of reckless abandonment that she only indulges in when he is on the other side.

They both groan, stumbling around the hall as he moves her, pushing and pulling her around the space, searching for some form or another of private refuge for them to wander into. All the while, without breaking their hold on each other or the kiss, until he finds an unlocked door, and he pulls her into it with now thought or care about what may be on the other side. He moves her one way pausing just briefly when they knock over a side table and a lamp because the sound was thunderous in the space and at the same time, barely registers much in the form of further response from either of them. 

She can feel it, in herself and in the grip of his hands on her waist, the weight of the noise, the sudden and barely halting idea that maybe they may be caught, and the frantic quality of their actions. It all has noise, and these have that same broken lamp sound. That same shattered glass sounds like the something is broken in them cracking further. There’s a moment, tightness in the grip of her hands on him, and his hands on her—a singular breath of time where there is a crazy instant that they both nearly crumble and break apart into what would be nothing more than another fit of hysterical laughter.

They manage to maintain their control, as they do more often than not, if only for the fact that they’re distracting each other with flurries of movement— her hands move down his shoulders and back, sliding under his coat and over his shirt, tracing skimming over toned muscle beneath it. She skims fingertips along the waist of his pants, tugging at the crisp cotton shirt to brush light touches to his skin. The barest hint of gentle intimate contact, while she quickly makes her way to the closure on his pants, tugging at the button, she barely pauses for a breath before sealing their lips for another kiss and pulls down the zipper. Her fingers trace small circles over the flesh hidden behind his slacks; the touch is tender, affectionate and teasing.

She doesn't have to tell him anything—the way it should be. They have this... intimate understanding of each other, a deep knowledge of the other’s nuances and the unspoken cues that they just know by instinct. She teases and toys with him; he pushes her against the wall and pushes himself into her wandering hand with a soft sound that curls in the small gap between their lips. She can’t stop the curl of a smirk that finds its way to hers, or the needy noise she makes when his hands shove and tug her dress up over her hips. He’s as good as she is at this sometimes especially lately; in no time, at all he’s pushed her panties down and has let them fall around her ankles.

Okay so... another quick fuck against a wall while somewhere out there their whole job is going to hell because they’re too busy with each other to actually handle the mission. These couplings aren’t entirely necessary, not like before when their long separations and overwhelming infernos of need would often make reasoning and waiting to get back to one of their residence or the other more difficult. They could, probably put the brakes on this tryst and head back out there before either of them end up more rumpled than they already are, but that isn’t going to happen. They both know it. 

Her mouth to his, they’re huffing frustrated sounds while they struggle to get whatever barriers between them out of the way. —These clothes are not cooperating fast enough for either of their liking—because right now their mutual amusement over the ridiculousness of their situation and the burning desire to make this evening a little more interesting has completely taken over their sense of reason. They need each other right now. They’re desperate and hungry. So needy and --

This. Here. Now. Right now, no waiting. No stopping. No wanting and going on with their business until they’re somewhere more appropriate. No, none of that because everything they need is right here, he’s right here, right at her fingertips. -- Ready and ripe for the plucking like the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. They should recognize how terribly broken they are, but they keep distracting themselves with each other, and honestly, they’re closer to each other now than they ever have been. Maybe, they don’t recognize how shattered they are when they’re together because in the moments like this they can see just how well they complete each other and fill in the gaps.

She spins him, pushing him back against the wall and before she has much chance to take advantage of her position, her back hits the wall, and the air pushed from her in the form of a deep whining moan. His fingers skim over coarse hairs to part silky folds and just to touch her. Tease her. Drive her crazy… toying with her like she does him. Her hips arch into him, she doesn't even attempt to stop herself from grinding against his hand and thigh. She can feel his lips curving into a smug smirk against hers when he gets the reaction from her, much the same way hers did when she got the reaction from him. They’re so much alike, in the subtlest ways.

All she can manage, between needy gasps and eager hands that scramble to push his pants down enough to feel his length, hot and heavy against her skin, is a breathy sound that vaguely resembles the word 'now'. Or maybe that’s him, groaning at her ear when she presses her body flush against his. Either way, it’s not that he has to be told what she needs, no more than she has to be told what he needs, because at this point he's lifting her up—so easy for him a well-practiced grip on the backs of her thighs then sliding up to squeeze her bottom as she hooks one of her legs around his waist, the other caught over his arm and pinned almost to her chest.

The moment—an eternity, a breath, agonizingly long, and just a blink that it takes him to align their bodies is nearly too much... She feels his chest heave, their breath catching together as he slides his cock against her, she can’t breathe. She can’t wait. She can’t stop the whimper or the way she rocks against him nearly begging him for more. She doesn’t have to because he can read her like a no one else and without much else, for a warning he fills her so suddenly she slams against the wall hard enough her teeth click together. 

Her nails dig into his shoulders as she scrambles for a better grip—a way to hold on to something, on to him. On to this. This… spark of something more alive than she thinks either of them has felt in a few weeks. It first flickered when she looked at him with the heat behind her gaze. Now it’s suddenly burst into hot flames that that curl, and lick trying to consume whatever this is that keeps holding them back. She can feel it building between them, and there is no way that they aren't about to let this fire blow out without doing what they can to let everything burn. It’s hot consuming inferno of burning passion ignited by something not entirely healthy, but they can figure that out later... 

Right now all that matters is—Oh, right now /all/ that matters the slow pull back and sudden rush forward. 

Right now, all that matters are the whimpering moans that he pushes from her, and the grunts and groans he makes with each move of his hips. 

They can't get their timing right; their lips collide in hungry messy over eager kisses and clicks of teeth. Sweeping tongues. Teeth find skin. They bite and claw and-- God! when they eventually find a rhythm they move like they always have, together. Their bodies molded and fit together so close the lines between them are blurred and hard to make out. She spent years fighting the pull toward him… denying that he is what she knows only he can be, in moments like these when all doubt is gone she knows without question that they share parts of the same soul between them. There isn’t any place else she’s meant to be. 

She braces against the wall, her shoulders pressing into it as she pushes back into him hard to meet him thrust for thrust. His hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise the points of contact delicious and painful, they’re bright and brilliant every time his hands flex and he pulls her onto him again. She digs her foot into the back of his thigh and spurs him with her heel. Harder, —Faster. Harder. More. So much more. Don’t stop. More. More...


End file.
